


Oh But We Are

by panda_shi



Series: This is Us [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Contracts, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Getting Back Together, M/M, Not Boruto: Naruto Next Generations Compliant, Past KakaYama, Past Relationship(s), Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: “You were happy. I don’t remember ever seeing you that way.”“It was a contract, senpai. Iruka asked me to date him so that Naruto would stop bothering him,” Tenzou answers almost robotically, coldly, like he’s reading off a mission report.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka & Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Series: This is Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001493
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Oh But We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Self Beta'd.

Confidence, they say, is ignorance.

Tenzou had been confident not knowing who or what Iruka truly is once he steps out of his public persona. He had been confident when he only knew the polite but also hot-tempered teacher, who can be seen chasing his sneaking-out-of-class students across the village, yelling at the top of his lungs. Tenzou had been confident when he only knew Iruka at an acquaintance level, someone he – on occasion – would share a meal or a drink with, someone he may see at a fellow acquaintance birthday party, someone he would wave and nod at from across the street if they ever see each other. A polite hello, how are you, a laugh shared between Naruto’s antics now that he is the Hokage in office.

Tenzou had been confident.

When he knew nothing of how Iruka’s hands feels like in his own, their fingers laced together, the warm of the soft left palm and that jagged scar that cut across it pressing against his own (an accident, Iruka said, on his first year as a teacher). When Tenzou knew nothing of how Iruka’s real smiles, not those polite ones he would show to the village, his peers and the parents of his students, but the ones that gets tucked under the rim of his tea cup, or the pages of his book, the one that actually reaches his eyes, brightens them, making those brown depths glimmer with golden ambers. When Tenzou knew nothing of how Iruka actually laughs to the point he can’t breathe, how he snorts when he inhales, wheezes at the end of it sometimes, mouth open tucked behind a palm that does nothing to hide his mirth, but an attempted gesture to remain proper all the same.

He wouldn’t know that Iruka dog-ears the books he reads before bed from the bottom and never the top, nor would we know that Iruka likes to drink a warm cup of lavender-vanilla-honey before bed. He wouldn’t know that Iruka enjoys watching thriller detective shows or court-room dramas. He wouldn’t have had a clue that Iruka cooks well but chooses not to because, “What is the point of cooking when it’s just me anyway? It’s a lot easier to just eat ramen. It’s a full meal and there’s almost no food wastage!”

He wouldn’t know how Iruka’s lips taste like, sweet, like the cinnamon tea he enjoys drinking in the afternoons, or bitter sweet like the oolong tea he washes down his lunch with. Sometimes, they’re citrusy, like freshly peeled oranges, or juicy sweet after Iruka tucks into the packet of satonishiki cherries or those cinnamon rolls with orange zest that Tenzou would bring to him sometimes, during lunch break. He wouldn’t know how Iruka’s smile would taste like, how sometimes they feel just a touch shy under Tenzou’s lips, or sometimes, when they’re sitting under the shade of a tree, far away from people but still within their peripheral vision, sometimes Iruka’s lips would burn fire hot; so hot that the heat would reach the pits of Tenzou’s stomach, heat curling like cigarette smoke, brushing against his abdominals and making his heart pound in a slow burn that he’s never quite experienced with anyone before.

(Not even Kakashi.)

He wouldn’t have had the knowledge of Iruka’s best kept secrets, how he chooses not to be attached to anyone because it’s just easier to leave no attachments behind. Because his trust in a relationship has been shattered, leaving behind a scar so large, so jagged, so hideous that it mars the strong, beautiful lines of his back. Tenzou wouldn’t know what it would mean to be the center of Iruka’s universe, how he burns in a fire so hot when Iruka would just look at him, and only him, either from across the table they’re sharing dinner with, or across a crowded street. He wouldn’t know the feel, and weight of Iruka’s body against his, how warm, and solid Iruka is under his hands, how he can lose himself just holding Iruka in an embrace that is nothing but show (not to Tenzou, it stopped being like that for Tenzou), but was everything to Tenzou because holding someone like this has never felt so right.

Tenzou had been cocky, because he didn’t know all of these things.

He didn’t know the depths of Iruka’s love for Naruto. He didn’t the weight of his loyalty to Konoha, his students, his dedication to his post and how much he truly cares for every single child that passes through the door of his classroom. He didn’t know about how Iruka spends more hours trying to give his students knowledge, a fighting chance for survival in the future because their basic building blocks, their foundation has to be rock solid before anything else.

He didn’t know that Iruka embodies what Konoha stands for – the will of fire.

He didn’t know that coming home, protecting Konoha, the land he bleeds for, stands right before him, ever so beautiful in his wash worn t-shirt and sweat pants, or that wonderfully rich blue yukata and crimson obi.

Iruka is home. Iruka is Konoha.

He didn’t know.

He fucking didn’t know.

Now that he does, now that he knows that there may have been a possibility that Iruka might have felt the same, he’s not confident anymore.

Because what do you do when you walk out of a person’s life, a person you’ve spent a good part of the year with, coming home to, lying right next to but with an ocean between you that measures nothing more than 8.5 x 14 in dimension? What do you do with the knowledge of seeing them come apart, the telltale of bitterness pushing salt around the corner of their eyes just as you close the door?

Tenzou doesn’t know.

And months later, as he tucks the disguise he’s worn for seven months in the middle of a foreign land that’s not quite foreign anymore given his missions parameters, he still doesn’t know.

*

It is spring when Tenzou comes home, the sight of the towering katsura trees never more comforting after being away for so long after a long time. This had to be Tenzou’s longest undercover mission since after the war. Seven months away he’s been gone and distance from the tribe of wood and leaf, amongst gians who’s roots hug the earth. Seven months away from hear the song of a sparrow, when he’s spent all this time in the middle of barren lands and sandy villages.

But then…

*

But then he sees Iruka, across the street, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost, suddenly _frozen_ with a take out paper cup in his hand – cinnamon tea, Tenzou knows, because it’s lunch break and Iruka must have grabbed a quick meal at the corner street down from the Academy, probably his usual rice bowl, perhaps donburi today. Tenzou watches Iruka swallow, watches how his jaw tightens for the briefest second, concern and worry and a hundred things crossing Iruka’s face before they all iron out to a show of a polite smile.

When Iruka smiles like this, the dimples that Tenzou has grown quite affectionate of, do not dot his cheeks.

When Iruka smiles like this – at him, no less – it pinches something small, almost a little delicate somewhere under Tenzou’s ribcage. It would have been easy to ignore. He’s had worse wounds that this tiny insignificant pinch. But it doesn’t go away, that small inconsequential pain, that is. It radiates, like poison spreading through out his body, pulling Tenzou’s spine taut and rooting him to the spot too – frozen, still, unable to breathe, suffocating with in, as every bit of him burns with a bitterness that he too powerless to stop.

He watches, with a pallid expression as Iruka dips his head. Polite. Proper. Every bit the respected Academy principal he is.

(Like they’ve never held hands, never kissed, never touched, or spent months and almost every waking hour together. Like they didn’t enjoy each other’s company. Like they’re total strangers when they really aren’t.)

And just like that, Iruka turns and continues on his way.

(The lines of his body tight, his steps a little to forcefully relaxed, heels dragging on the floor just the _tiniest_ bit – the walk of wary defeat.)

Tenzou _burns_.

*

And there’s nothing he can do about it.

He continues to burn even after Kakashi’s foot sends him flying across the field for the seventh time that day. Tenzou lands with a grunt, copper flooding his mouth, feet skidding across gravel, earth and dried grass as he feels one of the molar implants in his mouth come just a little loose.

Kakashi has been handing his ass to him all morning.

“Why did you agree to spar if you’re not in the mood?” Kakashi finally asks, dropping to stand beside Tenzou, patches of dust all over his uniform.

“Who said I wasn’t in the mood, senpai?” Tenzou murmurs, spitting blood out of his mouth to the ground and bringing a hand to press against his jawline. It’ll swell. It’ll probably bruise too.

The pointed look Kakashi gives him is all the answer he needs.

Who is he trying to kid here? Of course he’s distracted.

He’s been distracted for seven months.

He’s not surprised Kakashi manages to pick up on it.

(If there’s anyone who would, it would be Kakashi.)

*

“Why did you do it?” Kakashi asks, in between bites of the onigiri snack they brought with them prior to their spar.

They are seated under the shade of the training ground, feet outstretched, dust clinging to their unfirom, a plethora of craters littering the area all around them.

“Do what?” Tenzou asks, uncapping his bottle of semi-warm hydrating orange drink.

Kakashi has none of it of course. Simply continues to eat through his meal and take sips of his bottle green tea. “You were happy. I don’t remember ever seeing you that way.”

“It was a contract, senpai. Iruka asked me to date him so that Naruto would stop bothering him,” Tenzou answers almost robotically, coldly, like he’s reading off a mission report.

“Well, you had me fooled.” Kakashi shrugs. “Ahhh, I never pegged you to be such a great actor! My cute, little kouhai has honed a good skill~”

Tenzou says nothing.

Continues to say nothing or contest the false cheer and teasing lilt in Kakashi’s tone even after he’s done with his afternoon snack and he’s packing up all the trash into a plastic bag. It’ll only be a matter of time before Naruto starts to pester him about this, too. Tenzou had been lucky to have a mission conveniently lined up upon the termination of their contract. He had been gone since.

(Iruka would have had to deal with the one thing he didn’t want to deal with at all, if anything.)

“Want me to fuck it of you?” Kakashi suddenly asks, when they stand and get ready to leave.

Tenzou just looks at him and can’t stop himself from swallowing and nodding.

*

Kakashi tries.

He tries hard.

It does nothing to change how miserable Tenzou really feels.

*

The sex is good. It’s always good.

But it leaves Tenzou hollow, as he stares up at the setting sun, sweat drying on his skin as Kakashi pushes off Tenzou’s back and tugs the waistband of his pants back up. Tenzou straightens too, letting go of the tree bark he had been holding on to, bent over, ass in the air as Kakashi had pounded his hard cock into his body brutally, trying to fuck the misery out of him, trying to erase anything and everything about Iruka that had left Tenzou feeling so warm, and safe and _home_.

Tenzou swallows dryly, disgust at himself coating his bitter tongue.

Kakashi must have noticed because there’s a hand on Tenzou’s shoulder. Firm, yet oddly gentle.

“You have nothing to lose if you choose to go to him and act beyond your contract,” Kakashi says, his voice soft, understanding, maybe even encouraging. “If he makes you happy, hmm?”

Tenzou looks up at Kakashi, sees wisdom glimmering in the depths of his dark eyes. Age and years of loss. He watches Kakashi’s lip curl into a bit of a lopsided smile, the scar that cuts across the top corner of his lip twitching as he shakes his head and pats Tenzou’s shoulder before tugging the mask back up.

Tenzou hates it when Kakashi states the fucking obvious.

He hates it when Kakashi isn’t wrong.

(Because Tenzou, in all honesty, knew that already.)  
  
*

Kakashi isn’t right either.

Because Tenzou stands to loose whatever confidence he didn’t know he had at that very moment, when in the middle of a torrential spring rain, he stands at Iruka’s door step, one evening, a few days after his return to the village, pressing the door bell.

He stands to loose all that knowledge he had gained in spending time with Iruka if he chooses to do this. And it backfires.

(A part of him wonders why he simply can’t just be happy with the memories they shared, real or not. They should be enough to keep him warm even on the coldest of nights.)

The door opens and Iruka appears, a little haggard, dark circles lining the bottom of his eyes, dressed in his favorite t-shirt – the one with a faded graphic print of a cartoon rendition of a bright flame – and grey sweats that had a hole on the bottom hem of the left pant leg, his hair damp and down to his shoulders. There are fresh pen marks on his hand, red ink. Iruka rarely teaches anymore, but the chuunin exams are just around the corner, so he must be in the middle of reviewing the potential candidate list and genin team recommendations. He’s probably making corrections and suggestions if he’s using the red pen.

“Tenzou…” Iruka sounds breathless. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“I’m here to ask if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night, Iruka-san,” Tenzou states, before he loses all his nerve in the first place. He almost does just looking at Iruka like this. “No contract. No conditions. Just you and me—“

“—yes!” Iruka answers and clamps his lips shut immediately, a flush blooming on his cheeks, travelling down the length of neck and disappearing somewhere down to his chest, past the neckline of his t-shirt.

Joy, apparently, feels like a hot air balloon swelling and taking up all the space in your stomach and chest, expanding past the confines of your ribs and lifting your feet off the ground.

Joy, apparently, is watching Iruka flush a deeper shade of red, stammer an apology for cutting you off, as he ducks his head in embarrassment and shame, head turning to the side just a little bit.

Joy, is being able to reach forward, to grasp the curve of Iruka’s chin and tip his chin upwards, so you can look into his eyes that is brimming with the sea, something that he blinks away rapidly, something that disappears under the pull of that _smile_ that lights up the entire room, pushing past the boundaries of the walls of the apartment complex, all the way past the street and into the rest of the village.

Joy, is feeling Iruka’s hands come up to the curve of your wrist, fingers smooth and soft so unlike your scarred palms, but just as strong and steady.

Joy is Umino Iruka.

And how did you ever stand to let him go?

“There we go,” Tenzou murmurs. “This suits you better.”

“What does?”

“A smile,” Tenzou responds and leans forward to press his lips against Iruka’s cheek in an open show of devotion that he had long ago given to him the moment he agreed to the contents of that contract.

*

It turns out, Iruka had been afraid to act too, beyond the conditions of the contract.

It turns out they had simply been two fools, too afraid of hoping for something more.

And as Tenzou lies there in bed, the warmth of Iruka’s body pressed against his, watching Iruka sleep and dream in his arms, Tenzou can’t help but feel foolish and moronic for doubting that none of it had been real.

*

“So am I to expect an invitation soon?” Kakashi one day asks, a good year later, as they snack under the familiar tree of their favored training ground after a gruelling spar that does not involve Kakashi handing Tenzou’s ass to him.

Tenzou smiles.

And says, “Yes, senpai.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. Hi? 
> 
> I couldn't. I had to write the fix it!


End file.
